


Before And After

by Lexebug



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gay, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, POV Alternating, Self-Harm, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:11:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9504443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexebug/pseuds/Lexebug
Summary: The before and after of the event that ended up changing everyone's life. Reliving old memories with him, trying to forget the way that he crumpled like a fallen bird, forget the way the ice gleamed red. Forget.





	1. The Accident

**Author's Note:**

> HOO BOY IM GONNA REGRET WRITING THIS but I just got back from a church retreat and i'm in an angsty mood so

It was an ordinary day. Viktor and Yuuri were practicing pair skating, making lazy loops and spins around the Russian rink. Mila was on the sidelines, talking with Yakov about something. Otabek was on the opposite side of the rink, skating forward and attempting a quad Salchow. Yuri Plisetsky was circling the rink at a leisurely pace, observing and watching, relishing the cold rush of air against his face. He slowly transitioned into some elementary spin, moving up and doing a quick triple axel while Mila cheered for him. He smirked at Viktor and Yuuri, who were smiling warmly at him from across the rink, and began to pick up speed. Lifting one leg high, he fumbled a hand behind his head, and felt a spark of panic as a muscle in his upper arm pulled just a little too tight, sending a twinge of pain through him. He reached for the blade of his skate, and-   
Slip. That was the only word for what his hand had just did, how he overstretched and overcompensated for the distance between his foot and his hand, and his hand slipped and slid its way past the blade, the cold metal connecting instead with his wrist, making a long, jagged cut, the toepick scraping across his shaking palm, tearing up the skin. He silently brought his arm down to his eyes, letting himself slither to rest on the ice rink, fixing his eyes on the blood trickling from the vertical slice on his arm. He didn't hear Mila's scream, didn't hear the frantic sound of blades clacking on ice as three people rushed over to him, barely comprehended when Viktor clutched his face in his hands, murmuring that it was going to be okay in his panic-tinged voice. He didn't see Yakov sprint off to Lilia, who was already on her phone and talking to an operator, didn't hear Yuuri whispering comforting phrases in a weird mixture of Japanese and Russian into his ear, didn't feel Otabek take his uninjured hand, gently pressing a kiss to the palm. All he saw, all he knew, was that his blood was spattering on the ice like some fucked-up watercolor painting, and that he was bleeding out. This was how he died. 

Yuri was brought to the hospital in a haze, crying out as they wrapped and squeezed his injured arm, the bandages scraping against the torn flesh. He was vaguely aware of being poked with needles, having different medicines injected into him; he was too high on painkillers to care. Words filtered into his head, comforting Russian phrases, choked sobs, doctors talking quietly about radial arteries and pressure and shit. Yuri didn't care. It was his time, and he'd accepted it.

The funeral was a small affair.

Yuri was given eulogies by Mila and Yakov, Lilia praised him relentlessly on his skill, and he was buried in a small cemetery near his grandfather. Yuuri was holding back sobs the entire time; Viktor didn't speak, even once; Georgi was sitting in a corner with his eyes closed for the majority of it. Otabek's eyes were listless, devoid of light and color and soul. 

This was the beginning of After.


	2. Before: Viktor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor's day with Yurio before the accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo BOY

"Yurio!" Viktor called out, knocking on Yurio's door cheerfully. The door was slammed open, and Yuri grumbled a "come in", which Viktor happily did, taking off his coat and hanging it on the doorknob. "Yuri! Do you want to go out to eat today? We can discuss a new routine for next year's competition!" Yuri poked his head up from where it was nestled into the couch, his blond hair looking like a rat's nest.   
"Really?" He asked, like he didn't dare believe it. "Are you paying?" Viktor laughed, plopping down on the couch next to Yuri, ruffling his hair affectionately.   
"Of course, Yurio! Want to go to that new ice cream place?" Yuri perked up, immediately getting out of the couch and throwing shoes on his feet. He fidgeted impatiently while Viktor buttoned up his coat, then ran out the door and down the street, throwing himself into the passenger seat of Viktor's car.   
Viktor turned on some random alternative station as they drove, laughing at Yuri's protests as he sang along loudly, his voice being whipped away in the cold December air. When they got there, Yuri grabbed Viktor's wallet and ran inside, nearly hitting Viktor with the door, and ordered a double scoop of mint chip with sprinkles. Viktor sat down at the table with his cup of pistachio and cookies and cream, chatting with Yurio about possible moves for his next free skate. Viktor gushed about Yuuri and how he was so excited to start pair skating, and would Yurio please help them with a Death Drop, and Yurio scoffed into his ice cream but nodded anyway. Viktor gave Yuri advice on landing quads, even if Yurio clearly didn't need it, and all in all, it was a good day.   
Viktor drove them both to the rink, racing Yurio as he sprinted up the steps. Viktor laced his skates up, holding his phone against his ear with a shoulder, asking if Yuuri wanted to come to the ice rink. Yuuri and Otabek were visiting Russia to get some training in, and Viktor wanted to show off to Yurio and Yakov. 

It was a good last day with his precious Yurio.


	3. Before: Otabek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek's best memory with Yuri.

"Jesus, Otabek, a bit of help over here? I need another portal! Come on!" Yuri screeched, furiously pounding the buttons of the Xbox controller as he tried to reach some goal that Otabek didn't even understand. Futilely, Otabek pressed some buttons, sending his character reeling into the pit of sewage that for some reason killed you. He and Yuri were sitting on the floor of Yuri's apartment,Yuri sitting cross-legged and leaning forward towards the screen, Otabek leaning his back against the couch. As Yuri exited to the menu, Otabek held a disc up between two fingers. Disney's Cinderella. Yuri snorted and grabbed it from his hand, walking over and squatting to feed it into the DVD player as Otabek shut off Portal. He glanced at the clock; 2 am. His breath seemed to get stuck in his throat a little as Yuri crawled over to him, leaning his head against Otabek's shoulder. As the credits rolled across the screen and the narration scene started up, Otabek noticed Yuri's head turning, ever so slightly, towards him, until he was faced with those bright soldier's eyes, gleaming in the half-light of the TV. "You know, Beka, I do- um, I really like you. You know that, right?" Otabek was going to nod, but Yuri's eyes were boring into him, and he was so warm, and he was so close that really, Otabek couldn't help it if he leaned down and pressed their lips together.

Yuri's eyes were wide, nearly neon green, and slightly panicked. Otabek hastily slid his hand up to hold Yuri's cheek, or to pull away, but Yuri instead squeezed his eyes closed and reached around, wrapping his arms around Otabek's neck, his wrists dangling as he climbed over Otabek to rest in his lap, pressing Otabek's shoulders back into the couch.

Otabek reached back to run his hands along Yuri's back, sliding his hands up the back of Yuri's shirt. Yuri groaned, and pulled his face away, gazing at Otabek, a smile stretching across his face. "I really, really like you, Beka," he whispered, then tilted his head back, nearly purring, as Otabek leaned forward and started kissing along his neck, gently, and sucking at his collarbone. Yuri responded by peppering his face with kisses, running hands through his hair, and letting Otabek leave his mark on the side of his neck. 

The next day, nobody questioned the scratches along Otabek's shoulder blades and lower back, or the suspicious-looking dark marks along Yuri's neck and collarbone.


	4. Before: Yuuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri remembers the time he learned a little bit more about Yuri's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I realized I totally forgot to add any tags to this story, pretty sure I just said "Eh, I'll do it later" and then, well, didn't. So, sorry!
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter: Referenced self harm, self harm scars. Read with caution please!

Yuuri raced into the rink, hurriedly throwing his bag down on a bench. he had promised Viktor he'd practice his series of jumps, a quad flip, triple toe loop, then quad Salchow, so he'd be ready to skate for him when the time came that Viktor came to the rink. unfortunately, Yuuri had accidentally-on-purpose found How I Met Your Mother on Netflix, and maybe-sort-of-definitely binged the first four seasons, completely forgetting about practice. he had to have this set of jumps perfected in a few hours, or Viktor would have his head. Yuuri peeled into the changing rooms, nearly falling over as he dashed to the place he usually changed, the second-farthest locker section. To his surprise, though, Yurio was already there, tying his hair into a loose ponytail. His shirt was off, black leggings for practice already on; there was a crumpled pair of jeans on the floor next to his feet. The first thing Yuuri noticed was the flare of panic in Yurio's eyes as he turned and looked at Yuuri, arms immediately moving to cover himself. The second was the scars.

They were all over his stomach, some whip-thin, like small tongues of flame across his skin, others deeper, darker, and raised, looking like they still hurt. There were little ridges of white littered across his torso, and Yuuri felt the tears already choking him, and he couldn't stop himself from running forward and holding Yuri as tightly as he could, ignoring his protests. He smoothed a hand through Yuri's hair, felt a slight tremble from him, knew he was biting back sobs. "Yuri, why?" Yurio shrugged, every ounce of bitterness he had seeming to be poured into that single movement.

"Something to do. When I used to not be able to feel myself, who I am; it brought me back. Without the ice, sometimes I felt like- like nothing. Like I didn't even exist anymore." His voice cracked, and Yuuri smoothed a thumb over his cheek, swiping away a tear that had slithered down his cheek. "I stopped around half a year ago. "

"Does anybody know?" Yuuri whispered, running his hand gently over Yuri's head who, surprisingly, leaned his head against Yuuri's shoulder, tremors shaking him every few seconds. 

"A few people. My mom. My grandpa. Mila. Beka. I-I think Viktor always suspected something, but he never pried." Yuuri didn't practice his jumps that day. He told Viktor that there was a family emergency, and Viktor raised his eyebrow when Yurio walked out of the changing room with eyes a little redder than usual, but of course dismissed him. Yuuri spent his time finding out about Yurio's schedule, then finding him a possible therapist. About a month later, Yuuri drove Yurio to his first appointment.

Four months later, Yuuri was staring, dead-eyed, at a light brown casket and a bundle of lilies being lowered into the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. That was dark. I had something important to say here but I don't remember what.


	5. After: Viktor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor's life after Yurio's death.

Viktor talked too much, and never about the right things.

He raved incessantly about the weather, eyes false-bright as he looked at the star-speckled night sky. He gushed about the new program he was making for him and Yuuri, excitedly demonstrating jumps and spins. He tried hobby after hobby, always exclaiming how much he loved each one, only to let whatever tool he was using to do it drop after a week. His and Yuuri's apartment was littered with half-finished knitting, partially completed sewing projects, messy clay pots, paintings abandoned to lay listlessly on the DIY easel made from cardboard. 

All he wanted to do was forget.

Yuri didn't even live long enough for a dying wish. How the hell could he move on from that? Instead, he ran frantically around, false happiness plastered onto his face like a clay mask, that everyone knew was a lie. Maybe if he moved fast enough, he could move forward with his life. Only at night, did he let it get to him. Let the tears fall like a torrent of rain into the bathroom sink as he choked back sobs, not wanting to wake Yuuri, asleep in their bed in the other room. He had to be strong, strong for his precious husband, strong for Yuri's memory. He was doing his best.

Eventually, after two years, Viktor managed to move on with his life, at least a bit. But he never forgot. Many times, reporters questioned the times when a flicker of sadness flashed across his face, darted through his eyes like minnows, out of sight after a second. He broke down only a few more times; when Yuuri suggested their name for their adopted son be Yuri. And then, when little Yurio was 14, he did his first more difficult spin; a Biellman. Viktor was left sobbing on the edge of the rink, Yuuri holding his hands as comfortingly as he could, murmuring questions as to what was wrong. Viktor couldn't answer; only hold onto as tight as he could while is son skated over, questions obviously resting on the tip of his tongue. "I love you, Yurio," Viktor whispered, reaching his hand out and tucking a strand of hair behind Yuri's ear, and for a second, he almost believed it was blond, and that there were green eyes glaring at him through a gentle yellow fringe. Then his son dragged his other father off to the rink, demanding to try a quad, and Viktor laughed as Yuuri guided their son through the process of a Salchow. 

He hoped the original Yurio was watching.


	6. Otabek: After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First kisses aren't important. It's last kisses that really matter.

Otabek of course remembered his and Yuri's first kiss. A dark room, sleep-heavy eyes, almost asleep, Disney songs floating through the background. At one point he ended up moving over and sitting down directly on one of the Xbox controllers, and he had to buy a new one the next day. The first kiss wasn't perfect. It didn't have to be. The last kiss, however, mattered more than anything to Otabek.

He was the last of his friends to see Yurio before the end. He'd walked quietly into the hospital room, moved aside the pale blue curtain, and seen his Yuri, his sweet, strong Yura, fragile and pale and completely still. For a second, he feared the worst. Then, Yuri opened one baleful eye, and cracked a wan smile. "Beka," he said quietly, pushing himself up just enough to shift the blanket off of him, just enough for Otabek to see the bandages that laced around his wrist. "Yura," he whispered back, moving to sit gingerly on the very edge of the bed. Yuri rolled his eyes in such a Yuri way, a way that so strongly contradicted his sad, blank surroundings, that Otabek could almost believe they were back on the rink again, and Yuri was waiting for him to finish tying his skates, as he always complained about. 

"Come here," he said, softly, weakly grabbing Otabek's arm and pulling closer. "I'm gonna miss you, Beka. Tell everyone I said goodbye, okay?" Otabek shook as he stared into his soldier's eyes, gleaming, sad, but accepting. Clear. Yuri knew what he was saying. "Yura, don't say that. You're gonna be fine." Yurio shook his head, barely a full movement. "Beka, it's okay. I slashed my radial artery; too much blood lost. I'm not as stupid as some seem to think," he said, laughing. He quietly offered his hand, the one not wrapped tightly in bandages, and Otabek took it, pushing oxygen cords and IV's out of the way. He leaned down and kissed him, and Yurio smiled against his lips, eyes closed. As comfortable as if he were falling asleep in Otabek's arms, like he used to. Otabek broke away and wrapped his arms around Yurio, for the last time.

Yuri looked up at him, for the first time with tears in his eyes. "Don't miss me too much, okay Beka? You look idiotic when you're sad." He reached his hand up brushed away a tear from Otabek's cheek. "I love you, Otabek," he almost-whispered, and Otabek nodded back, trying to get words out from around the lump in his throat. When he couldn't, he settled for action. He pulled Yuri up, just a bit, and kissed him again, as sweetly as their first kiss, and he could tell Yuri understood. "Go, Beka," he said, holding his face in shaking hands. Otabek was escorted out by a grim-faced doctor. An hour later, he got a call saying that Yurio was gone, and asked who would be arranging funeral services. Otabek choked back tears, told them to call someone else, and threw his phone against the wall. As he collapsed onto his bed, he realized what a Yuri thing to do that was, and felt a fresh wave of tears.

After the funeral, Otabek never stopped thinking of Yuri. When he fell asleep, he always had the same dream. Yuri grabbed his hand and skated him across the rink, the two making long, lazy loops around the rink. This would go until Otabek would notice an ominous creaking, and try and pull Yuri off of the ice. Yuri would laugh it off, saying Otabek was hearing things, until the ice splintered and fell away into a frozen lake, and Otabek would vault the wall of the rink and pull Yurio with him. Yuri would still be laughing, and he'd smile at Beka and say, "Close one!" 

Every day, Otabek woke up wishing it was that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOO I HAVENT UPDATED THIS IN FOREVER!!! Here we go! There's gonna be two more chapters at least, kk?


End file.
